


Sinking

by through_shadows_falling



Series: Supernatural Ficlets [49]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5759902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“May I join you?” Castiel asked, sounding somewhat timid.</p>
<p>Dean grunted. He waved his hand without opening his eyes. </p>
<p>The sofa dipped as Castiel sat. He was closer to Dean than usual, but Dean was too tired to protest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sinking

**Author's Note:**

> For @god-dammit-fandom who requested some Destiel schmoop back when I hit my 400 follower mark.
> 
> “dean and castiel watching a boring movie, trying to unwind after an intense hunt. they end up wrapped in each other’s arms and napping on the sofa"

 

If you had asked Dean what he, Sam, and Castiel had just returned from hunting, he wouldn’t be able to tell you. His whole body ached, and his muscles were dying for something soft to sink into, like the new sofa he and Sam had splurged on at Ikea. As far as he was concerned, the hunt was over, and all that mattered now was fabric even softer than his Memory Foam (sorry, bed).

Dean sighed as he melted into the sofa. It was navy blue and fluffy, and the fabric felt like velvet. He smoothed his hands over it for a second before reaching for the remote. There was nothing good on TV, so he settled for some shitty movie with Tom Cruise. His eyes fluttered closed as it droned on in the background. 

Quiet footsteps padded into the room, too light to be Sam’s. Plus, Sam had called the showers and was probably in the middle of washing his long, girly locks.

“May I join you?” Castiel asked, sounding somewhat timid.

Dean grunted. He waved his hand without opening his eyes. 

The sofa dipped as Castiel sat. He was closer to Dean than usual, but Dean was too tired to protest.

“What’re you watching?” Castiel asked.

“D’nno. S’mthing with Tom Cruise,” Dean mumbled. “You ‘kay?”

Castiel, in all his humanity, had officially joined the ‘getting thrown into walls by monsters’ club, so he had to be hurting.

“I took some Ibuoprofen.”

“Mm. Good. Now j’st relax.”

“Yes, Dean.”

Dean drifted for a while. At one point he shivered, and solid warmth wedged itself into his side. Some faraway part of his mind knew it had to be Castiel who was pressed to him from shoulder to thigh, and that part was conflicted, because it both balked at and welcomed the former angel’s proximity. 

But it was the uncaring part of Dean that ultimately triumphed, the part that was too exhausted to feel shame or guilt or anything but how comfortable the sofa was, and how warm Castiel was, burning beside him. Parts of the angel were squishy, too, as Dean leaned more fully on him. Castiel was like a pillow, and Dean couldn’t drag himself away. Instead, he let his muscles un-tense and his whole body droop, supported only by Castiel, who threw an arm around his shoulders and tugged him close. 

Dean inhaled and exhaled long, calming breaths filled with the scent of the former angel. Castiel must’ve fought Sam to the showers, because he smelled clean, with a hint of soap and a smidgen of coconut, probably from his shampoo. He was wearing pajamas, too, or at least something softer than his usual outfit. The texture of Castiel’s shirt was smooth against Dean’s cheek, and he was impressed by the hardness of Castiel’s muscled chest as his head rose and fell with the angel’s rhythmic breaths. 

Up, down. Up, down. It was like an ocean, and Dean was carried along the waves. He was far from shore, but Castiel was his tether, his anchor, and Dean was safe.  

Gentle pressure massaged his scalp and Dean released a happy sound. The pressure was replaced by pinpricks of sensation - fingernails - that carded through his hair. 

Now, that was going too far. They were cuddling at this point, and Dean didn’t cuddle. 

Yet, he couldn’t find the energy to say anything. He just let it happen, too content and at peace to fight it. 

So when sleep finally claimed him, it was restful. 

And when he dreamed, he dreamed of the sea, and of wings on the horizon. 


End file.
